The Heart Runs a Cycle, They Say
by SallySorrell
Summary: Fun, sometimes poetic oneshots about all the show's relationships.
1. Mints

Mints

Even though Andy adored his ringtone, he adored Erin a slight bit more. And that's who was calling.

He knelt down on his couch, eagerly flipping open the phone and casting away the TV remote he'd finally uncovered.

"Hi, Andy...?" She sounded frantic, but not in the least bit upset. Some would call it 'excited', but they didn't know Erin well enough.

"Erin! Hey, what is it?"

"Long story, kind of... but I left my keys at work on my desk, and my foster mom has the spare key, but she's in Denver this week, and... can I stay at your house tonight?"

"Sure. Absolutely. Yes, and fine, love to have ya."

"Oh, you're the best. Let me pick up dinner or something for you. I'm about fifteen minutes away right now."

He smiled, widening it and waiting for her to answer it. After realizing that they were talking over the phone, he offered her an awkward 'goodbye' and surged from his seat.

Fifteen minutes...

Andy considered her company, and thought of ways to compliment it, without seeming _too_ desperately romantic. He was amazed at his own impulsive brilliance; he stumbled first to his jar of mints (always kept on hand to battle a singer's sore throat) and grabbed two to place on the pillows. Hadn't he seen that in a hotel once? Yes. He made sure, also, that the sheets were clean, matching, and neat.

Next on his list was a robe. He had a couple, so she deserved one. Was that too much? Just in case it wasn't, he cut a flower from his front garden and tied it to the robe's bow, in a blind attempt to tip the scales. Oh, she would need clothes to sleep in! Andy was sure she would look completely adorable in an old, handsomely distressed, not-too-wrinkly Cornell t-shirt. If he could find one in time.

As he heard the doorbell, he hauled a _Here Comes Treble_ shirt from the very back of his closet. On his way to the door, he threw the shirt and a blanket over the couch. He assumed he would get stuck there.

She stood, in the same peachy dress from work, on his door mat. She dusted her feet over it a couple times too many, and passed him the fragrant catering bag so she could hug him properly.

"Thanks, Andy." She pulled away, took the bag back, and shut the door behind her, "I hope it isn't too much... I just got spaghetti from Cello's."

"That's great... goes perfectly with tonight's movie screening... let me go find _Lady and the Tramp_."

He helped her set the food on his dining room table, then sprinted for the drawers beneath his TV cabinet.

"That's so cute; you have Disney movies..."

He gave her a slight, nervously jumping laugh, which she returned.

The movie was put on, and dinner was eaten. They shared a chat about the day's events at work (during whatever time they spent more than five feet apart), and complimented the food as if the chef stood nearby, waiting to bow with a flourish of his flour-speckled hat.

It was friendly. Until near midnight.

"Do you have a shower?" Erin asked this innocently, as if he could tell her no.

He hadn't even thought of it during his raving preparations.

"Uhh... it's not clean."

"That's okay. I'm sorry I asked. I can shower at home tomorrow after work. Or I could come in late if I shower first. That might be better, huh?"

"Hmm... yah. Definitely."

"Oh! Tomorrow's Wednesday and I really missed my bedtime. For work nights." She kicked off her heels and tucked them beneath the table.

"Same." Offered Andy, "And uh... I didn't think you'd have your, um... 'jammy jams', so there's a shirt on the couch. It's clean I promise."

She giggled and picked it up, turning it over to read the logo.

"The bedroom's down the hall, to your left, and there's a robe for you on the bathroom counter." Andy proceeded, taking a half-step forward and pointing, "I'll be out here if you need anything."

"I don't wanna take over your whole house, Andy. You're doing me a favor... I can sleep on the couch."

Her eyes brimmed with urgency that he just couldn't catch on to.

"Oh no, the bed's more comfortable. Go ahead, get some sleep."

She looked down and bit briefly at her knuckle. Thoughts spun on her mind's rotisserie, until one volunteered itself, edges charred.

"We'll just split the bed in half." She caught his uncertain frown and tossed it gently back, "You're like my best friend, it's okay."

And thus, they both prepared for bed, taking turns in the bathroom more flawlessly than any set of siblings or married couple ever could.

At the exact same moment, they tore off the covers, standing at the side of the bed.

Erin picked up the mint from the pillow and smiled as she smelled it.

"Cheers." Andy told her, picking his up too.

They ate them and curled up on the bed.

"Goodnight, Andy. Thanks again, for everything."

"Sure thing. G'night."

Andy switched off the lights and watched her back quiver under the Cornell shirt, until he was sure that she'd fallen asleep.

There was something that linked them together; their need for approval. A constant yearn for attention, which was never quite answered.

He felt like crying at this realization... how long would it take her to realize they needed each other?

Overcome by what he later considered madness, Andy wrapped his arms around her waist. His face curved over her shoulder and he tried not to cry onto it... that would chill her skin, abandoned by the too-loose shirt and folded blankets.

Her eyes blazed open, but she didn't move... this felt nice, anyway. A part of her wanted to reach back and hold him even tighter. Her heart danced in its moonlit jail cell, glaring up at her brain, which jangled the keys.

She reached down for his hands and patted them. They were cold, but they instantly relaxed when she got to them.

Erin turned carefully around to face him, but he kept his eyes shut. It would be ruined if he opened them only to see her pending disapproval.

He shivered as she put her arms around his back. Within her, the jail-keys fell and shattered.

They fell asleep in each other's arms. And they woke up, advertising the same brand of friendship they always kept in stock. Since the day they met, and forever, hopelessly, into the future.

She looked casually into the mirror the next morning, wishing she could brush her teeth, but grinning as Andy tossed her one of his older, brighter jackets and folded khakis.

"You'll look great." He promised, leaving her alone in the bathroom.

And he drove her to work, where she cowered behind her desk to avoid questions about her wardrobe. Andy made sure not to look her way, even when Erin proudly picked up her keys and waved them in his direction.

It was more normal than anything else the office had ever witnessed. Maybe Erin should forget her keys more often.

She planned to.


	2. Chivalry is Dead

_Author's Note: Sorry I've been away so long. I just remembered how much I love The Office, so here's this. Comments, Questions? Send a review or PM! I truly love hearing from my readers :)  
><em>

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><p>Pam honestly wasn't intending to spend all night perfecting a prank. That was normally Jim's thing. She was trying to take over.<p>

They had spent over an hour on the phone… Pam mostly listing reasons Jim should come back, Jim listing reasons she should move too.

"There's no Michael. Just _Call of Duty_, which I bet you'd be pretty good at." This was the forerunning reason. Pam giggled and tried to argue that she would, in fact, be more useless than Jim at that game. Counting Michael's phone-calls was more demanding, they determined.

"Oh, so I had this prank idea." Jim said, right as Pam checked the clock, "But I'm gonna need your help with it."

"Okay, go." She fumbled for a notepad, just in case.

"Well, I've been sending Dwight faxes from his future self, which is working out. But I'll be at a sales meeting tomorrow morning… can you send one for me?"

"Absolutely."

"And I was wondering if future-you could send a fax tomorrow too. And then freak out about it."

"Sure. What should they say?"

"How he needs to leave right away because the woman of his dreams is in trouble."

"You're so creative… what about mine?"

"Whatever you want, Beasley."

"So I'm doing all this work for nothing?"

"Of course not. I made you a _Call of Duty _account as a prize. I'll send the password after my meeting."

She could just see him smugly raising his eyebrows. He was probably leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up onto the desk. Meanwhile, she looked at the clock again.

"It's pretty late here, Jim, I need to get started. What time is it over…?"

"No time difference."

"Right." She always asked then always forgot.

There was a silence that neither participant particularly enjoyed, but couldn't stop.

Pam attempted to cough, then said:

"Well, I'm gonna start on the faxes. I need to design a new letterhead too, so it doesn't have my fax number on it. Or the Scranton logo."

"Yeah, good call. See ya."

"Bye."

She listened to the dial tone for a moment before clicking the phone back down. It was the saddest thing she'd listened to all day.

Using a convenient batch of 'clipart', Pam assembled a passable Dunder-Mifflin Stamford logo, which she printed and cut out. She began work on the fax, smiling maliciously as she started each new line. Dwight's poor ideal wife had been kidnapped by the mob. It was brilliant, if not outright foolish. She wasn't sure, but blamed the lack of caffeine remaining in her system on the delirious instructions which resulted. As soon as she found a stopping point, she promised herself an orange soda.

After printing out a first draft, Pam stood, took a few hesitant steps, and retrieved her change purse. Off to the kitchen for the final stretch of her assignment.

As the quarters clinked through the machine's skeleton, Pam swore she heard some hushed Italian accents not far off. Once again, she blamed being excessively tired and writing a page-long thriller-of-a-fax about them kidnapping girls like her.

_Great_. She sighed and knelt to grab her soda _I'm gonna be the star of my new fax series. Awesome. _

Then a different rustling noise. Pam whipped her head to find it, but was unsuccessful. As she gave up, the break room door slipped open. Without her hand being anywhere near the handle.

She stepped back and into a table, trying to silence whatever might fall off of it and give her away. Too late.

The door opened further, creaking as if it had come from a low-budget horror movie. She wasn't sure what was worse: seeing a person open the door, or identifying that person.

As Dwight.

"Pam?"

She took a single, obedient step forward.

"What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

"I… yeah. Why are you here?"

"I had to let the new cleaners in. Michael forgot… uh, was too… _busy_ to leave the keys for them today... Were you on your way out?"

"I guess so, yeah. Just finishing up a project."

Dwight nodded as he spoke: "You were talking to Jim."

Pam didn't answer; she just approached the door while opening her soda-can.

Dwight moved out of her way and held it open, smiling down at her as she passed. Pam thought it was about as normal as anything else, until she smiled back. She caught herself and shook the expression vigorously away.

"I'll just shut my computer down, I guess." Mumbled Pam.

"Okay," Dwight took his briefcase from his desk and watched her. This was perceived as simultaneously creepy and comforting.

As she stuffed the unfinished fax into a folder, Dwight draped his coat over his arm, tugging at his shirt collar.

"You don't have to wait for me, Dwight. It's okay."

"It is part of my job to do so."

"Okay, whatever… Hang on, sorry."

"You drove here today, right?" His voice was softer than she'd ever heard.

"Yes Dwight, thanks."

She took a final, hopeless glance at her prank and enjoyed a sip of orange soda. Not a bad day.

"I think I left my lunchbox in the kitchen… I'll be right back."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, that's okay." Pam called, already en route. She was still unsure what to think of this.

Dwight, meanwhile, inspected the folder Pam left out. Her computer was slowly losing consciousness, and the glow on the folder was too much for him to ignore.

He heard Pam returning, so he carefully replaced the folder and its contents. He'd read all he needed to, anyway.

"Got it." Pam held up her lunchbox in case he wouldn't believe her. He passed her his coat.

"Snowed earlier." He informed her, habitually checking his watch. "About an hour ago."

Pam was almost tired of thanking him, but did so quietly. The sleeves were comically long on her arms. She watched them swish around her wrists as they boarded the elevator.

More stifled Italian echoed as they reached the parking lot. Pam glanced around, eyes perpetually widening.

"That's the cleaners." He told her, reaching around her shoulder. She didn't mind.

The walk to Pam's car was methodic. Dwight did not leave until she had started her car and reversed from the parking space (he of course, had checked the back seat for her, too.) He refused to take his coat back and wished her a safe drive home, reminding her how many fatalities occur as a result of exhausted operators. Something nice to think about once she got on the freeway, when the words finally set in. She rolled the coat-sleeves up as high as she could manage, in order to grip the wheel with her hands, rather than with a clump of greyish fabric.

She dreamed that night of the cleaners, her failed faxes, and how nice Dwight's arm felt around her shoulder.

This materialized as a nightmare when she arrived at work the next morning…

Dwight was standing at her desk when she walked through the front door. Her fax folder sat under his arms.

"It's good I came by when I did," he told her, indicating the folder, "And would you give this to Michael?"

He produced a folded paper. From her prank folder.

_This'll end well_. She shrugged and took the paper.

"Why don't you give it to him?" Pam unfolded it. He caught her hand, gently, to stop her.

Dwight just shook his head. He returned peacefully to his desk, after assuring Pam he was glad she made it back okay and apologizing that he wasn't able to do anything more the previous night.

Pam skimmed his note to Michael, which contained numerous references to her unfinished fax. He wanted the new cleaning crew removed based on their connections with the mob, and the fact that they could've kidnapped and killed Pam, all during the first night of their contract. But he was present to stop all this unfolding, how fortunate for the branch. And for Pam.

Seemed like her prank worked out decently. Jim would be proud.


	3. Fast to Forgive, Hard to Forget

Andy kicked at a stack of hay as he passed. Even his own humming was unable to fill the voids with cheer.

Oscar followed, unsure if any words that were circling around the sidewalk of his mind were appropriate to use at the moment. Seemed hopeless.

"I'm sorry, man." Oscar offered, nervously.

"It's fine, I guess." Andy reached to open the looming wooden doors before him. Oscar dashed up to help, hoping that would be better interpreted than his choice of words.

One door slid open, then the other, creaking along the dirt and leaving several bits of hay and flower petals homeless.

Both men, for different reasons, were surprised to see the barn entirely decorated. From the rafters glittered strings of light. Candles muttered in each window, neatly cascaded away from the hay. Heavy fabric protected the wooden pews from a possible snowfall. The arch itself had been meticulously draped in bright blossoms, still inhaling the joy of the scene, unaware their stems had been sliced away.

With a similar feeling brewing within Andy, he approached the arch to study it. As he reached for the brightest flower he could see…

"Don't." rang a decisive voice, like a hammer to a nail.

Dwight emerged from the side of the barn, eyes focused on the ground.

Oscar sat down in the front row, waving for Andy. He backed away from the arch.

"Just sit down, Andy… or we can go." Oscar tried to speak quietly. Dwight watched them.

"This was supposed to be my wedding day." Andy recited, "That's all."

Dwight sat down in the row across from them.

"You know what?" began Oscar. He knew this trip would only end in his failed attempts at consolation, "Save this for someone else."

"Yeah…" said Andy, "She wasn't that great, was she? I just realized that."

Unsure of displaying insult or agreement, Dwight's eyes swiveled over. They were cloudy, but otherwise unreadable.

"_Please_, I could've told you that."

"Y'know, you kind of ruined this for me, so why don't you stop." Andy felt childish and kind of enjoyed it.

Oscar picked at the sentence Dwight abandoned:

"I did try to tell you how awful she was, remember? I've worked with her for what, ten years now? It must be ten years… believe me, that's long enough."

Dwight did agree with this, providing a solemn nod.

Spontaneously, the three of them laughed. Then immediately stopped to ask why they'd done so. No answers.

"This can still be a day you remember, Andy." Oscar told him, "A… new beginning."

Dwight proceeded to a crate at the back of the room, appearing as if its only purpose was to hold the massive doors open or shut. From this box he removed a half-surrendered bottle of beet-infused wine. And mugs, not glasses.

Oscar shrugged at how ridiculous his day was becoming. This was a day off, yes, which he had taken… to be Andy's 'backup best man', since Angela hated the idea of letting _Here Comes Treble_ anywhere near her.

"A toast," said Dwight, "To Andy's new beginning."

The drinks were poured, pressed together, then sipped.

"Thanks, guys, for everything."

"You weren't supposed to forgive me that quickly." Dwight mused.

"That's what I do."

They smiled at each other. Dwight's eyes widened, just enough for Oscar to feel uncomfortable. Which wasn't much.

"Did you want to leave?"

"You're free, Oscar. Sorry for wrecking your day off."

"_Your_ day, man. Wouldn't miss it…"

"Thanks. I'm fine."

Dwight's turn to feel awkward. He settled by announcing:

"Don't drive while intoxicated, Oscar."

"You're kidding, right? I barely had a sip, Dwight."

Dwight raised an eyebrow above the frame of his glasses. Oscar returned to his seat.

"I was kidding. That was a joke."

The mugs were passed around again, sparking a comforting conversation. For many hours, the three men sat and talked, often laughing and always agreeing.

When the bottle was empty, Dwight removed its cork for a final time.

"Here, Andy."

"What?"

"Don't people keep random stuff from their wedding day?"

He smiled and caught the cork as Dwight tossed it.

"We should get going." Oscar said, straining to see whether the sun was still visible through the rafters.

"Yep. Hey, thanks Dwight. We're cool, right?"

"I accept your apology… Drive safely."

Dwight shut the doors behind them as they left.

Oscar and Andy chatted on the way to their respective vehicles.

"Thanks for everything."

"You too. Hey, let me know about plans this weekend, okay?"

"Sure. Sounds great."

As they drove away, Angela's car pulled into the driveway. She crept to the barn doors, struggling with all her strength to open just one. Dwight heard this and pushed it ajar.

"Hello, Dwight." Her smile was hopeless.

"No." he told her, slamming the door.


	4. We Should be Siblings!

Erin practically pranced into the kitchen. She'd noticed Phyllis unwrapping something from the fridge and just _had_ to meet her.

"Can I eat with you?" Erin chirped, selecting a table and pulling out a chair.

Phyllis had to study the room, assuming Erin was talking to somebody else. Oh, maybe she meant Ryan. He was leaning on the back wall, headphones blocking him from reality. He held a sandwich but didn't eat it.

Erin sat down and patted the table. Phyllis joined her, still unsure.

"Do you have your lunch?" Phyllis asked, genuinely concerned. She was more than willing to share.

"I do. Thanks." Erin took a brightly patterned bag from her lap and opened it.

"What is it?"

"My lunch? I have pasta with s..."

"No, what's wrong? You look upset."

"Oh. I wanted to talk to you. I don't know what to do now that Michael's gone..."

Not exactly what Phyllis was expecting.

"I mean, you've been really great to me, Phyllis, like my mom, and I really love that. Michael was kind of the same... he looked out for me and didn't let people hurt me."

Her fork danced in circles on the plate of cold pasta. Erin stared down at it. Ryan's head swayed over, briefly.

"He was a good guy." Phyllis agreed, "Overall."

A small bit of Ryan's sandwich was shredded away and hesitantly eaten. Erin watched this.

"Did you want to sit with us?" she illustrated her request by pointing, just in case his music was turned up too loud.

He pulled a third chair to the table and fell to it. The headphones were tugged away and imprisoned in his pocket.

"I hate to admit it," Ryan began, setting down his food, "But Michael was like my dad too. It's weird, right?"

Both women nodded. Well, Phyllis commenced and Erin only felt comfortable conforming.

"I mean, he showed me around and taught me a lot… not directly, I guess. But still."

"I'm so glad I got the job here." Announced Erin, twirling her fork once again, "Because I had a family here. I thought he was kidding when he said that so much, but it's true."

Phyllis grinned at this. Ryan nodded in agreement, muttering something about how much he liked spending time with his coworkers ("Some more than others. But still.") He adopted that catchphrase from Kelly, as an example.

"We should be siblings!" Erin dropped her fork in the excitement, "You and me, Ryan. That's perfect! We can't get too depressed if we can talk to each other."

"Okay," he laughed, just slightly, "Works for me."

"You guys are so sweet." Said Phyllis quietly, leaning in, "And I'm here for you too. Don't forget that."

"So we can have lunch like this every day, right?" Erin let the question wander. There was a pause before it was answered:

"Yeah…" Said Ryan.

"Of course." Said Phyllis.

Smiles were passed around.


	5. The Loft

The barn door creaked open, being neither pushed nor pulled from the people on its sides.

Angela was cautious in stepping through it. Dwight stood there in the threshold, blocking her path.

She had to stand on her toes and lean forward just to reach his lips.

...With her finger.

"I don't want to hear it." She mused.

Dwight assumed he did something to upset her, but that didn't matter. According to the calculations in the back of his brain, her mood would have absolutely no effect on the rest of their pre-planned evening.

"Fine," he agreed, raising his hands in mild surrender, "I won't say a word."

Angela tossed her arms and groaned, "You _just did_."

Dwight wasn't one to argue with fact. Or with females. He could stay completely silent, sure. Longer than Angela could, he guessed.

In his head, he saw himself and Angela slamming stacks of money down onto a poker table. He studied his cards. Blank.

Trying to quiet even his paces, Dwight led Angela (by the reluctant hand) to the back of the barn. She watched him lean a musty wooden ladder against the base of the hay-loft. They kept a blanket up there. And a lantern, and a bottle of Angela's favorite wine. All of it was well hidden by bales of hay and planks of firm wood.

Dwight climbed up and gave her a sharp, gestured command to follow. As she politely scaled the ladder, which was much taller than she was, Dwight pressed the blanket neatly out. He waited until she could see him to take his shirt off, to which she rolled her eyes then shut them.

He conveyed, 'wine?' through a tilted brow and gentle swishing of the bottle. Angela nodded, and knelt over his chest. She hoped it would make him uncomfortable, but, to him, the blanket weighed more than she did.

The open wine bottle was passed back and forth after each sip until Dwight decided to close it again. As he did so, Angela reached for the lantern. It flickered and sputtered into life.

Her eyes drilled into his, forcing him to stop moving completely.

The amber light created a dazzling spectrum of shadows on the barn ceiling. They both grinned at it, until Angela ran her lips over Dwight's. To annoy her, he gazed past her to study the outlines.

She watched him the entire time, waiting for him to break down and speak. Or to shut his eyes, surrendering from the awkward encounter forever.

Halfway, Angela gave in. She did not speak, but she switched off the lantern and found peaceful sleep on top of Dwight. He watched her, fascinated with her breathing, and the fact that she had curled up like any one of her cats might be doing at that exact moment.

And that's when she spoke, "Dwight, more wine."

It was an order, but she was still sleeping. Dwight had to inform her of her loss immediately!

He brushed at her back while whispering into her ear.

"Angela, wake up... Monkey?"

She awoke, startled, and glared at him.

"_Why_ are you speaking to me?"

"You were talking in your sleep... you said something before I did..."

"What? You thought this was a game? A bet? Do I _look_ like one to gamble?"

Just as she looked like she wanted to be sick, Dwight leaned forward. She was shoved off of him, and slid to the hay beside him. It was colder without her there, Dwight noticed. His heartbeat had nothing to echo back from.

"I didn't say anything until after you did." He declared, swatting the lantern back on.

"No. You don't get to say anything until you renew the contract."

"I won't sign it unless I can talk." Odd, Dwight discovered, that most of the arguments he took part in were utterly senseless.

"Ugh," said Angela, "I have to go."

She retreated back down the ladder and traipsed carefully through the darkness until she found the door. He heard it shut, and then her pathetic, weak car revving up in the cold.

This didn't bother him. With a satisfied, though solitary smile, he returned to sleep.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Well, that was a bit different for me... still in-character, I hope? I just love Dwight and Angela's quirky relationship and thought it'd be fun to write a possible scenario :)<br>What did YOU think? I love every bit of feedback I receive, honestly!  
>Thanks again,<br>S. Sorrell**


	6. The Dress

**Author's Note: Hey everyone... this is for all the Andy/Erin fans out there. And happy Independence Day to my friends in the US! Here's a cute, summery, hopelessly fluffy piece for you to enjoy. I am really interested in your feedback on this chapter in particular, or on any you've liked or wanted to improve. I LOVE hearing from you guys =D And hey, I write requests. So throw some my way? Thanks a ton and enjoy!  
>~ S. Sorrell<br>**

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><p>Erin met Pam as she was leaving the kitchen late one Friday afternoon. She was holding a cup of yogurt and resetting her hair beneath a jeweled clip. Erin smiled.<p>

"Hi, Pam."

"Hey Erin… what's up?"

"I wanted to know about where you got your wedding dress… it was really pretty."

"Thanks." Pam set her yogurt to rest on the counter. This interrogation may take longer than holding her snack was worth, "Were you… um, are you getting married?"

"Nope." Giggled Erin, then, after a confusing pause, "It just makes me happy… looking at wedding dresses. And it's been a kinda sad week so far, so I wanted to go look."

"That's fine…" Pam nodded to reassure Erin, "We went to The Blue-Eyed Boutique at the Steamtown Mall. They have some modern dresses and a ton of really nice traditional ones. And veils and trains and all that."

"Sounds great. Thanks Pam!" During this, Erin scooped up the yogurt cup, thrusting it toward Pam's hands with a grin.

Erin waltzed back to her desk, stopping purposely at Andy's on the way.

"Andy?" she resisted tapping his shoulder. He swished around his chair, twisting a red pen between his fingers.

"Erin… hey. Fancy seeing you here." He dropped his smile momentarily, "Do I owe you from lunch yesterday?"

"I told you not to worry about that, _silly_." His smile resurfaced, "I wanted to see if you had plans tonight…"

He stopped to ponder this, as well as her motive. Slightly worried, she continued:

"Or tomorrow, or Sunday. Just if you're free at all. Any time this weekend."

"I'm sure I can make time. Tonight's okay?"

"Yes." She even nodded.

"What're we doing?" He recapped the pen and set it neatly near his keyboard.

"I wanted your help picking out a dress. Is that weird?"

"Not to me. I'll even pick you up."

"Okay." She reached to shake his hand, physically sealing the _date_. This was a date, according to Erin. And probably according to Andy. But neither admitted this to the interviewers.

"Wow," declared Erin, stepping through her front door to join Andy, "You look nice when you're not in 'work clothes.'"

He wore a blue polo shirt and jeans only a few shades lighter. Erin wore a striped pink blouse and gentle grey denim.

"You too." He offered, "Ready?"

She nodded.

"Where to?"

"Oh, the mall is good. Need some cheering up."

"Then to the mall we shall go."

She locked the door, pocketed her keys, and tugged a purse over one shoulder. Andy rushed ahead to open the Prius's passenger door.

("It _wasn't_ a date!" he told the cameras the following Monday, "I just take pride in politeness, okay? I mean, 'Andy, hey, the Queen is coming. But don't hold the door for her, or people'll think you're _dating_.' Really? Erin should be treated like the Queen… and I _would_ hold the door for the Queen. Didn't mean to confuse you..." he paused to rub some sweat from his brow, "What were we talking about?")

Erin's gait was light and summery, similar to the surrounding breeze, as they entered the mall.

"You said you needed cheering up?" mused Andy, a half-step behind her.

"Yeah… long week. And Gabe hasn't said 'hi' to me at all."

A crooked, partial smile ignited Andy's face. He always greeted her. Creatively.

"Oh," said Erin, softly, "It should be this way. Pam told me about this place."

She took his hand and pulled him down the lanes, mostly against the general flow of traffic.

("It really wasn't a date." She answered the same question when back at work, "He was walking slow and that's a good way to speed people up. My foster mom grabbed my hands all the time. To get me across the street safely and stuff. I think that makes sense." In uneasy silence, she reached for the bracelet on her left arm. She admired it, then glared awkwardly back up at the camera, "Oh. I thought you just shut that off…?")

They stood before the boutique. Staring up at the logo, Andy sifted through a variety of expressions, including shock, disgust and resentment before settling with confusion.

"So you need like a… bridesmaid dress or something, right? I mean…"

Erin knew how well Andy responded to jealousy and chose her answer cautiously:

"No. I'm looking at wedding dresses."

"You… you're… _what_?"

She also knew how he dealt with anger, and quickly clarified:

"I'm just _looking_. Wedding dresses make me happy, that's all. I used to draw them on everything when I was a little girl."

"Okay." Andy exhaled, noticeably relaxed, "This'll be fun… we'll have fun."

They proceeded through the shop doors, both trying their best not to look like they were engaged, but internally, hoping they looked enough like a couple to blend in.

They were welcomed by a woman in a shiny black dress. Over this was an apron, bearing her nametag, a measuring tape, and various clips and pins. Tucked into her neat, greying hair was a pencil.

"This is new," she said, stepping closer, "We've never had the bride and groom in together."

"We're not…" Erin started.

"We're just looking." Andy announced simultaneously. He led Erin away with a brisk swipe of her shoulders.

"That's perfectly fine," promised the attendant, "But call for me, Susie, if you need anything."

"Sure." They said together.

The back of the store smelled light and flowery. Vast posters of possible designs covered the walls, and several dresses were showcased beneath them on mannequins. Still wrapped, some dresses dangled from a rotating display.

"Which one do you like best?" Erin glanced briefly at Andy, then returned to gazing longingly at the gowns.

"That one, definitely." He gestured up at the shiniest one. It boasted a lower neckline than the others (in honesty, he liked the ones with high, buttoned-up collars… but they reminded him too much of Angela) and large lace flowers twirling at the base and along the train. The mannequin who wore it seemed to be smiling brighter than her counterparts. And that made it stand out, just enough.

Susie's eyes loomed over them.

"We have one of those down on the shelf if you wanted to try it on, sweetie. It's the last one, but it should be about your size…"

"Go for it." Andy told her, anticipating her begging, "Whatever makes you happy."

"Can I?" she had to be sure, and approached Susie at a run.

"The fitting room's this way… let me help you out."

One of the shelf's inhabitants was moved gingerly away. Susie draped it over her shoulder and escorted Erin to a set of powder-pink folding doors along one side of the wall.

Andy passed time pondering price-tags, then inspecting a rack of rentable tuxedos. As he began admiring a glistening black bowtie, Erin and Susie emerged from their cell.

He stopped and felt terribly cliché as his lips unsealed and his mouth became, for the first time in a while, useless.

Erin just giggled.

"Isn't it so pretty?" she laughed louder. Susie oversaw the train, lifting it frequently out of the way of Erin's excited sidestepping.

"Why are you laughing?" Andy almost joined her. But added, quite seriously, "You look gorgeous."

As a salesman, he recognized Susie's attempts at 'upselling', as they called it:

"Now this _is_ the last one of its kind. And it fits her, well, perfectly. We've also got a matching jewelry set with this… a necklace and bracelet with the flower design, then pearl earrings in whatever style you prefer."

As a self-proclaimed gentleman, he also fell for it. Partially.

"Can we see the bracelet, too?"

Susie left to retrieve it, eyes widening at the possibility of her latest commission.

"See, this is fun, right?" Erin looked only at the dress. Andy used her inattentiveness as a window to just watch her expressions as they folded across her smooth face.

She twirled in the dress, admiring the train of flowers that fluttered along behind her.

"It really does look great on you."

"Too bad I'm not getting married. And it would be weird to buy it now and _then_ get married. What if my future husband hates it?"

"He won't." sighed Andy, hopeful and hopeless all at once.

"Thanks, Andy."

"And the groom's not supposed to see the dress… that's a tradition or rule or something."

Susie returned and rushed to fasten a glimmering bracelet around Erin's left wrist. The docile flowers appeared to be made of lace, but, as Susie explained, were derived from a delicate and unique variety of pearl. The color mirrored the dress exactly.

"That's pretty too." Admitted Erin.

"I bet you've never heard this before," Andy began, turning to Susie, "but can we have just the bracelet?"

"I've heard a lot, but not that. Sure…"

"I'll just go change out of this."

While Erin returned to the changing room, Andy followed Susie to the front register.

"Don't let her see the price tag. Don't let me see it, either. I might cry."

Susie nodded and curled her lips. Andy passed her the entirety of his wallet, checking behind him in case Erin could see.

The bracelet was placed in a padded box. Andy studied the label, then met Erin as she finished changing.

"Here." He told her, setting the box in her hands.

She opened it, gasped, and slammed it shut. She spoke through her hands:

"Andy, you really shouldn't have…"

"It's okay… I wanted to."

"But it was probably expensive?"

"Don't worry about it." Watching her face for a refusal, he reached one arm around her waist, "If it makes you happy, it's worth it."

As they parked in Erin's driveway later that night, she peeled the box open again. Andy clasped the bracelet around her wrist, which looked lonely without it.

She wanted to leave it on forever. Andy caught this thought before it melted from her eyes.

"Can't shower with it."

She laughed and was extra careful in closing the car-door.

Not a bad date, they decided. Separately and silently, of course.


	7. Decisions

"_Dwight!_"

He had been peering over the baby, a bit closer than Angela preferred. Dwight snapped to attention, watching Angela with even more enthusiasm than he'd allotted to Phillip. She sighed at this.

"What?" his voice was gentle, a sea-foam in contrast to her tsunami.

Phillip studied his crib, which Dwight was careful in latching.

"Why do you have to do that?"

"Do what, look at my son?" he added slight laugh at the end, hoping it would make things more comfortable, more casual.

"No. Come into _my_ house when you know very well that the senator is busy with…"

"Last I checked, you gave me the key, not the useless, _pathetic_, senator."

"Suppose you stole my baby."

"My baby? I was going to steal him… anyway, how is it stealing if he…?"

"_Dwight,_ that's enough!"

He stared down into her eyes.

"Regardless," began Angela, failing at ignoring him, "some events have transpired… and I wanted to tell you that I may have changed my opinions of… of you. Of Phillip. And you."

Half-smiling, Dwight took her hand. He had to turn her away from the crib. Phillip's fingers twitched, ever so slightly, as he fell asleep.

"I wanted to tell you. But you just had to show up unannounced and ruin everything. Dwight…"

He caught her as she started to cry. The tears were cold and plentiful.

"Monkey…" he retrieved a handkerchief from his coat pocket and had to force it into her hands. She crumpled it up before smearing it over her face.

"I can't tell you now, Dwight. I can't."

"Don't..." his satisfaction didn't depend on it. He focused once again on Phillip, gazing longingly over Angela's shoulders.

"But I want to."

Dwight patted her shoulder. Softly, and only once, as a way of reassuring her. But, ultimately, leaving her to make her own decision. He walked over to the crib and watched Phillip, smiling cautiously.

"Angela," he said formally, "I want you to stay with me."

"I _am_ with you." He could almost feel her eyes as they rolled.

"No. _Only_ with me. If I were to leave Dunder-Mifflin tomorrow, would you come with me?"

"Dwight, I can't quit my job for you."

He nodded, despite them each gazing off in opposite directions. "I'd quit mine for you. I _have_ quit mine for you."

Suddenly, he turned. Phillip moved his head, but his eyes remained shut. Both parents stopped, silent, to make sure they didn't wake him. Dwight proceeded at a whisper:

"I won't upset you, Monkey."

She sighed as the habitual response passed her lips:

"Oh, D…"

Their eyes met, encouraging Angela to continue. She checked frequently on Phillip, as did Dwight. She had to admire the love he already showed for the baby.

"It's about Phillip, Dwight." She sat down in the rocking chair, facing Dwight and the crib, "He wasn't… he _wasn't… conceived _out of wedlock. He…"

"That's impossible."

"Let me _finish_."

Phillip awoke, due to Angela's snap in temper, and thus, volume. Dwight had a friendly smile and a bar of humming ready to prevent his crying. Angela gave an appreciative nod.

"This isn't a premature baby." Recited Dwight.

"He wasn't conceived out of wedlock, I promise you. "

"Why are you lying to me?" Dwight immediately regretted sounding so cold with her. He stopped himself and waved for her to continue, forming a slow 'sorry' with his lips and staring at the floor.

"There were _legal _documents," began Angela, pacing and playing with her wedding ring, "which I was supposed to deal with. I did not 'deal with' them. I left them in a drawer in my desk."

"Wait, you mean the senator's…?"

"Our marriage, Dwight. _Ours_."

He pondered this, grin widening with each spinning thought.

"You sly dog."

"Cat." Snapped Angela. Dwight swore that her accompanying sigh was a purr in disguise.

"Monkey…" he decided, nodding. She turned to face him and was welcomed into his arms.

"So… _yes_, Dwight. I will come with you. For Phillip."

They embraced beside the crib, with Angela muttering into his shoulder the demerits of a 'broken home.'

"I won't disappoint you, Mrs. Schrute."

While she stared only at her baby, Dwight leaned down to kiss her. Once; softly, simply.


	8. Just This Once

"Just this once," she muttered, cradling the baby over her shoulder, "I want to pretend you've got a _normal_ family. A proper one."

The boy's eyes were wide, brimming blue. He reached for the mobile that hung behind his crib. It was a gift from the baby-shower, and the various wooden beets that hung from it easily indicated the creator.

…Who entered the room at this exact moment.

"He's lovely." Recited Dwight, catching the baby's hand and redirecting it to something productive. Holding onto his mother, perhaps.

"He isn't _yours_." Came a rather justified snap.

"Biologically…" Dwight began, moving to face the mother, "Can I hold him?"

"Just this once."

"That's not a very good answer." Said Dwight.

"Did you want me to say 'no'?"

"No, I just hoped you'd agree with a complete sentence. You of all people should know English."

She rolled her eyes and passed over the baby. She was careful in scrutinizing Dwight, but it was hard to find a flaw. He seemed more gentle around the child than with anyone else.

"You can give him back now, Dwight."

"Aren't you tired?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

She stood, brushing her skirt off before reaching for the boy.

"What's his name again? Didn't you name him after someone…?" Dwight felt bad for forgetting, but had never paid so much attention to a toddler before. Most times, when he needed to remember someone's name, they were old enough to repeat it to him. And, secretly, Dwight was hoping he'd awaken from a sloshy coma to find the child was named after him. As it deserved to be.

"I'm not going to tell you again. It said his name all over the invitations. I made those myself, y'know."

She placed the baby in his crib. He watched the mobile and, when both adults finally stopped watching him, drifted off to sleep.

"Please. _Just this once_. I will never forget, ever again."

"Why? You won't ever see him again, I'll bet. Let me repeat; he _isn't your baby_."

"I know," Dwight was genuinely dejected, but picked up a temporary smile, "But you'll need help raising him, I'll bet."

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"What?"

"Saying the same phrases I say? I don't think it's cute."

"Damn it." Dwight didn't intend for her to hear this, but he had to admit that his plan failed. He tried to recover, "But I could help you... I _want_ to help you."

"Who says I don't have any help?"

"Well, I did hear you before I came in… how you wanted a 'proper family'."

"You're doing it again."

"A _normal_ family?"

"I said that as well."

The silence was only slightly uneasy, as both stared down at their feet. The baby smiled as he dreamed of finally catching the mobile. And sucking on it, most likely. Dwight would be pleased.

"I was going to do it right, y'know."

"Dwight, if you don't stop wi-."

His hands twitched in a frantic apology. His mouth twisted along, and he blinked more than usual.

Her words were only stopped, however, when he knelt to the ground and reached into his coat-pocket.

"Dwight, are you proposing to me? How can you be proposing to me… I already…"

"Please, you would make me the happiest adoptive father on the face of the planet earth. I promise to make…"

"Me the happiest adoptive _mother_ on the face of the planet earth?"

He stopped, stifled a laugh, and resumed opening the ring-case.

"Is that a 'yes', Nellie Bertram?"

"The ring is gorgeous. Richard does need a father figure… I am lonely. You've never done a mean thing to me… and you're entertaining. So perfectly sarcastic."

Dwight waited for an actual confirmation, choosing not to point out the fact that he _always_ meant _exactly_ what he said. Nellie looked from baby Richard to Dwight, who was starting to look truly ridiculous on the carpet, constantly wavering for balance.

"That's a 'yes', Dwight Schrute. Just this once."

He stood and was surprised to find himself initiating a hug.

"I wasn't going to ask again…" this was whispered into her shoulder, and she smirked at the sarcasm.


End file.
